Down by the Lake
by mindmelda
Summary: AU, Quatre is on a high school field trip. Trowa needs help with a bully. Shounen-ai.


Title: Down by the Lake Author: Gina Lin Genre: Fluff, pure Fluff Pairing: 3+4 Warning: Shounen-ai, AU Rating: PG-13 Archived: S_E Updates  
  
The blond boy hoisted his pack a little higher on his back, shifting the weight of it against his other shoulder, trying to focus on the teacher's instructions.  
  
"When we get to the lake, remember to fill your sample bottles from the designated areas on your map," said Mr. McWhirter.  
  
"Let's go through our schedule again," said the biology teacher. "First we get our water samples. Then, we'll be performing a few simple tests there. Everyone please remember your test kits. Then, we'll be eating our lunches there at the site. Then finally we'll have an on-site lecture on pollution's effect on our water resources. Any questions?"  
  
"Aren't we supposed to pick a partner?" asked a girl in the front row.  
  
"Yes, Audrey, thank you," said Mr. McWhirter. "Has everyone picked a lab partner. If you haven't do it now. If you don't do it now, I'll be picking one for you. And you don't want that, do you?"  
  
There was a collective groan from the class. People began to mill around, pairing up.  
  
The blond boy shifted his feet, this time out of discomfort. Being a senior at a new school was a real handicap at moments like this. He wasn't exactly shy; but then again, he wasn't the most outgoing person either. He ducked his head, wishing for a brief moment that he'd acquire a sudden case of the flu.  
  
A quiet voice behind him took him by surprise. "Would you like to be my partner?"  
  
He jumped a little and turned around quickly. Long chestnut brown bangs and one vivid jade eye came into his range of view, the other partially obscured by the bangs. He had to look up a bit. The other boy was taller.  
  
"Sure," he said, trying to keep the sound of relief from his voice. "I'm Quatre."  
  
"I know," said the taller boy. "Trowa."  
  
Quatre smiled in a friendly fashion, the other boy regarded him solemnly.  
  
"All right, everyone, time to get on the bus," said Mr. McWhirter, raising his voice above the giggles and talking of twenty 17/18 year olds.  
  
"Can anyone tell me what the pH of normal water is?" he asked loudly when they got on the bus.  
  
"Okay, we went over this in class, people," he said. Some shifting around and silence.  
  
"Um, Quatre, is it?" he finally said, pointing, stumbling a bit over the final foreign sounds of the boy's name.  
  
Quatre unconsciously slid down in his seat, which he was sharing with his new partner.  
  
A few of the other students giggled.  
  
"This was on the worksheet ladies and gentlemen, and since Mr. Winner did so well on that, I'm sure he knows."  
  
"Great," thought Quatre, cringing, "Beaten with the geek stick first week of class. I'm doomed. Why doesn't he just give me a pair of taped-up horn rims and a pocket protector."  
  
"It's 7 on the pH scale," he finally said in a rusty voice.  
  
More giggling.  
  
"Correct," said Mr. McWhirter. "Now was that so hard, people?" he asked rhetorically.  
  
"Yes," Quatre answered in his head. "It was like having an ice pick shoved under my toenail, you sadistic bastard."  
  
Outwardly, he sighed. Trowa gave him a sympathetic glance, but refrained from saying anything.  
  
The hour-long bus ride to the lake was made in silence. Quatre was beginning to wonder if his deodorant had failed, because he was seemingly ignored except for a few casual glances from under the concealing hair of his seatmate.  
  
On the other hand, there was something about the other boy's silence that wasn't off-putting. It was an almost comfortable silence.  
  
"What sort of a name is Quatre?"  
  
When the question came, it was so unexpected that Quatre jumped again.  
  
He quickly gathered his wits. "It's French," he said. "My family is Arabian, though. Don't ask," he added, rolling his eyes in a self- deprecatory fashion.  
  
"I should have your name, then," said the other boy, after a few moments. "My ancestors were French."  
  
"Wanna trade?" asked Quatre facetiously.  
  
"No, Trowa is unusual enough, thank you anyway," said the quiet boy.  
  
"Was that a tiny smile?" wondered Quatre, looking at his seatmate from the corner of his eye. He realized intuitively that the smile was infrequent.  
  
"Thank you for asking me to be your partner," said Quatre, finally.  
  
Trowa shook his head slightly. "Not really fair," he said gently.  
  
"What?" asked Quatre.  
  
"Pairing people up," said the other boy.  
  
"I guess not," said Quatre, wondering now if he was only chosen by default. "Oh, well," he thought, mentally shrugging off the feeling of rejection.  
  
"Almost there," said Trowa, reaching for his things from the overhead rack of the bus.  
  
Everyone collected their things and with some pushing and rude comments, finally disembarked.  
  
The small lake was beautiful, it's banks surrounded by pines on one side, a wide beach of sand and rocks on the other.  
  
Quatre inhaled. "Better than the classroom, I guess," he remarked, looking at his companion.  
  
Trowa nodded. "I like being outdoors," was all he said.  
  
"Let's get it done, people," said the teacher, "No messing around, remember, we're still in class."  
  
"Come on," said Trowa, surprising Quatre by grabbing his elbow. "I know a good place to reach the water easily."  
  
"You've been here before?" asked Quatre, allowing himself to be escorted away from the rest of the group.  
  
"Yes," said Trowa. "I like it here," was all he said.  
  
They went along a winding path that led into some nearby trees.  
  
"Um, where did you say we were going?" asked Quatre. He pulled away from the grip the other boy had on his arm.  
  
"Just over here," said the taller boy pointing.  
  
"Oh," said Quatre. "Should we be so far from the group?"  
  
"Yes," said Trowa, his voice now dryly humorous.  
  
Quatre laughed a little, partly out of nervousness, and partly out of finally getting a positive reaction from the other boy.  
  
There was a large flat rock nearby. Quatre removed his backpack and sat it down, flexing his shoulders a bit.  
  
"So," he said, desperately looking for a conversation topic, "you from here?"  
  
"No," answered the boy shortly. "We're only here in the winter."  
  
"We?" asked Quatre. "Your family?"  
  
"Not exactly," said Trowa. "My older sister is my guardian. Our parents are dead. The circus winters here, I go to school."  
  
"Circus?" asked Quatre, his eyes widening.  
  
"Yes," said Trowa.  
  
Quatre laughed, a sudden thought occurring to him.  
  
"You're the boy who doesn't have to run away to the circus!" he said, laughing again at his own remark.  
  
Trowa looked up neutrally from under his bangs. He was getting a plastic bottle out of his backpack. "Let's go get our sample," he said mildly.  
  
Quatre felt his face flame. "Way to open your big mouth!" he chastised himself.  
  
He grabbed his own bottle and ran to catch up with the other boy. "Hey, I'm sorry, that was kind of rude," he apologized.  
  
"No," answered Trowa after a minute. "I guess I'm just touchy about it," he said, his voice still mild. "No harm done."  
  
"I don't think you're weird," amended Quatre. "Kind of quiet, I guess, but all right."  
  
"You're in the minority, then," said Trowa enigmatically.  
  
"Sorry?" asked Quatre, genuinely puzzled.  
  
They both bent down to retrieve their water samples at the lake's edge.  
  
"You don't listen to the gossip," said Trowa quietly. "Or you haven't been here long enough."  
  
"I still have no idea what you're talking about," said Quatre.  
  
"Well, if it isn't Barton and his new boyfriend," said a sneering voice behind them.  
  
Quatre turned around so quickly, he almost lost his balance. A steadying hand reached out to grab his arm.  
  
"Maybe we should leave," said the voice again. "They can't seem to keep their hands off each other."  
  
Quatre looked up. Two boys he didn't really know were looking down at them, nudging one another and sniggering.  
  
Quatre stood up, feeling his temper rise along with his posture. He unconsciously assumed a defensive stance.  
  
"Piss off!" he said tersely. A week's worth of frustration and rejection was behind that warning, along with the shock of what the two boys were insinuating.  
  
"Oh, looky," sneered the bigger of the two bullies. "Blondie wants to fight us."  
  
"I dunno, Ron," said the darker, smaller boy. "Maybe he just wants to kiss us."  
  
They hooted with laughter at their "witticism".  
  
"Go away," said Trowa without raising his voice.  
  
"Ah, does he want to be alone with his sweetie?" mocked the one called Ron.  
  
"I think he does, Mark," said the stocky fair boy.  
  
They both laughed again.  
  
Suddenly, the stocky boy charged at Trowa, knocking him sideways into the shallowest water at the lake's shore.  
  
Quatre reacted instinctively, and pushed the other boy forward with a well- aimed kick to the behind as he went by. He went headlong into the now muddy water, and came up sputtering and flailing his arms. Jumping up, he ran up the bank, cursing and stumbling.  
  
Trowa stood up, a bit wet and muddy from the waist down, but not thoroughly drenched like the boy Quatre had "assisted" into the lake. Brushing off his jeans in a futile gesture to get clean, he walked over to the rock where their things were.  
  
The other boy had taken off running, proving to be a fickle friend in the end.  
  
Quatre went over to his backpack and pulled out a hooded sweatshirt.  
  
"Here," he said, holding it out, "Tie this around your waist, at least you won't be cold."  
  
Trowa simply stood there, head down, silent.  
  
"Here," said Quatre again, holding the jacket out further.  
  
"It's okay," said the other boy, finally, not looking up. He folded his lanky arms around himself as if to minimize his presence.  
  
Quatre walked up to him and put his arms around the other boy's waist.  
  
Trowa started, jerking up his head and putting his arms out defensively as if to shove Quatre away.  
  
"I'm just tying this around you," Quatre explained, and proceeded to do so.  
  
"Thanks," mumbled Trowa, dropping his arms, still not looking up.  
  
"I'll get our samples, then we can find somewhere to eat our lunch," said Quatre, picking up the two bottles from where they'd fallen on the bank and quickly filling them from the lake.  
  
"Why?" asked Trowa, when he came back to the rock and put the two bottles in their backpacks.  
  
"Why what?" asked Quatre. "Why help someone, why be kind?"  
  
"I guess, why doesn't it bother you?" asked Trowa. "I mean, it's true, what they said about me."  
  
"That I'm your boyfriend?" Quatre teased, laughing.  
  
Trowa actually blushed at that, slowly spreading from his cheeks down his neck. Quatre watched it with fascination.  
  
"No," Trowa finally said haltingly. "I mean, not that I'd not want you to be, I mean, not that you'd wanna be, I mean." he ended helplessly, spreading out his hands in a helpless gesture.  
  
Quatre laughed again. "I know what you mean."  
  
"You don't find that. disgusting?" asked Trowa carefully.  
  
"No," said Quatre, "I don't think so. Why would I?"  
  
He opened his backpack and fished out his lunch. "Don't you want to eat?" he asked the other boy.  
  
Trowa nodded slowly, exhaling. "Sure," he opened his own pack.  
  
Quatre ate a bite of his sandwich, chewed and swallowed. "Well, at least we can get to know each other a little better now. Without being interrupted."  
  
Trowa looked up, mid-chew, looking astonished.  
  
"You shouldn't eat with your mouth opened," admonished Quatre, his eyes twinkling merrily.  
  
He reached over and gently wiped a bit of mustard off the other boy's lips with his finger and licked it off.  
  
Trowa's eyes followed the motion, transfixed.  
  
"So," said Quatre, lowering his eyes, then raising them.  
  
"Aren't you going to thank me for saving me from that bully?" he asked.  
  
Trowa nodded, still staring. "Thanks," he whispered.  
  
"You know," said Quatre, raising a sly eyebrow, "You're in my debt now."  
  
"I am?" asked Trowa, still staring at the boy in front of him.  
  
"Yes," said Quatre. "And tradition says you must do whatever I ask."  
  
"What tradition?" asked Trowa, finally taking another bite.  
  
"The tradition of my people," Quatre improvised with a wink.  
  
"Oh," said Trowa, catching on and playing along. "What do I owe you?"  
  
"A kiss," said Quatre.  
  
"A kiss?" asked Trowa, his voice hitching a bit. He unconsciously leaned forward.  
  
"Here?" he asked, feeling his face flush again.  
  
Quatre looked around. "Why not?" he asked innocently.  
  
"Someone might, um, see us," said Trowa, glancing around too, then looking at the other boy.  
  
"Do you really think that will be any worse than what just happened?" asked Quatre, leaning forward until their noses were almost touching.  
  
"No," Trowa swallowed visibly.  
  
Quatre tilted his head and brushed his lips against the other boys.  
  
"I've been wanting to do that for a whole week," he said.  
  
The End 


End file.
